Goddess

by Fiona McIntosh

  “You will send Lazar alone?”

  “He is as good as a dozen men–you should know that from what he did to save your life, Tariq. And it seems obvious now that the more people involved in any desert party, the more vulnerable it is. Lazar was right. He warned me at the beginning of the journey to Galinsea that he wanted no more than Ana, Jumo, himself, and perhaps one other.”

  “No one could know that Arafanz would strike, Majesty, not even Lazar.”

  “He could not know it. But he understood better than any of us the dangers. Look at what happened to Jumo. That could have been you, Tariq.”

  Maliz let the lightly couched insult pass. “And should Lazar perish in this attempt to find the Zaradine?”

  Boaz surprised the older man by shrugging. “Then he dies. We all die, Tariq,” the Zar said, with condescension. “Even Lazar would put Ana and especially the child first, I’m sure.”

  Maliz hesitated, caught by something in Boaz’s voice, but before he could respond, the Zar burst out, “Zarab strike me! What does Arafanz want? He takes my wife, my heir; he makes no claims upon us for their ransom. What is he aiming to achieve?”

  “Perhaps he wants her, Highness,” Maliz offered. “He seemed to know when and how to strike effectively; he knew precisely who we were–in fact all about the individuals in the royal party. This was no opportunistic attack that hoped to yield a few jewels, my Zar. I believe Ana was always his intended prize.”

  “But why, Tariq? She is one woman, not worth risking so many men for.”

  “Is she not, Majesty? You staked your whole realm against her name in sending her to Romea. You entrusted her with the lives of all of your people by choosing her as your emissary. The future of Percheron rested with this young woman.”

  Boaz looked down, nodding. “And nothing has changed. She holds Percheron’s future in her womb. If I die, that child is all we have.”

  “You are not going to die, my Zar. I shall see to it,” Maliz assured with far more determination driving his sentiment than the ruler could appreciate.

  Boaz found a rueful smile. “Thank you, Tariq, but I fear even your faith cannot spare me a Galinsean sword.”

  Maliz nodded. He could not win this argument, based more on passion rather than good sense. “We must redouble our efforts to protect you, my Zar,” Maliz replied.

  “Salazin, your most elite of the Mutes, perished. And I think we have lost our finest of the royal guard in the desert,” Boaz said.

  “Many lives were lost, yes, and I regret that Salazin was one of them, Highness, but still we must intensify the guard of the Elim about you.”

  “As you see fit, Tariq,” Boaz replied, waving his hand as if it meant little to him.

  The demon hesitated, confused by Boaz’s reaction. “What else troubles you, Highness? It cannot be all about Zaradine Ana. Let us presume she is safe.”

  “And Pez?”

  “Ah, Highness. Forgive my candor but I would hazard the dwarf is likely dead. What use was a babbling imbecile to us”–he held up his hand as Boaz looked up angrily–“other than as the harmless amusement that brought such pleasure to your father and yourself alike?” Maliz tried hard to make it sound like the compliment he had contrived but still it came out a sugared insult.

  Boaz batted the fig off his plate in a rare show of peevishness. “Oh, he was so much more, Grand Vizier, but none of you knew it!”

  Maliz felt all of his internal alarms begin to sound. He carefully kept his voice even, his body language unchanged from the languorous position he had adopted, his fingers loose around the goblet of wine he had been twirling. “I don’t understand, my Zar. What do you mean?” He frowned casually and nearly hurled the goblet across the room with unfettered rage when Bin suddenly interrupted them.

  “Zar Boaz, please forgive me, Majesty,” the servant said, appearing in the chamber, bowing and shuffling and unable to be still.

  “Really, Bin,” the Grand Vizier snapped, “hasn’t his Highness any time to himself to eat?” Maliz slammed down the goblet before he answered the urge to hurl it at the secretary.

  Boaz gave his Grand Vizier a quizzical look at the tone of and aggression in the admonishment. “It’s all right, Tariq. I told you, I’m not hungry anyway. I’ll hear this news outside in the salon. You’ll have to excuse me–we were finished anyway, I’m sure.”

  Maliz felt his gut twist with fury but he pasted an avuncular smile on his face. “Of course, my Zar.”

  He watched the tall young Zar move away from the supper table and the huge salon doors close behind him.

  “What is it, Bin? Please don’t tell me Galinsean warships have been sighted?” Boaz held his breath and couldn’t believe it when the servant smiled.

  “No, my Zar, I bring only good tidings. Pez has been found.”

  The Zar leaped to his feet. “Pez? Alive?”

  The servant nodded, grinning widely now at His Majesty’s pleasure. “And rambling as usual, my Zar, making no sense but thrilling everyone that he’s back. He is unharmed. Very disoriented, very thin, but he is whole.”

  “Where is he?”

  “He demanded to see the elephants, Majesty, and then he insisted he be taken to the the florack bushes in your father’s private garden. He wanted to pick some of their petals we gather. He plans to throw them at the stars…or so he told me. I thought it best to let him have his way, Highness.”

  “Is he there now, in the gardens?”

  “He is, Highness. I’m sorry we didn’t rush him straight here, my Zar, but I didn’t want to risk upsetting him. I know how you’ve missed him and I imagine he’s terribly confused. It seemed wiser to keep him calm for you.”

  “You did well, Bin. I shall go to him immediately. This will be a private time for us. No one is to be permitted. No one! See to it.”

  “At once, Highness.”

  5

  Pez saw Boaz burst through the courtyard doors, and watched his friend cross the distance in four strides to lift him hugging him tight, laughing and weeping at the same time.

  “I thought I’d lost you,” Boaz gushed.

  “What a welcome. I should obviously get lost in the desert more often, Highness.”

  Boaz laughed, wiping at his eyes. “If you tell anyone I wept, I’ll have you impaled.”

  It was the dwarf ’s turn to smile, his features going through that curious change that made him lose all the ugliness for which he was famed. “I’ll write a song about it and sing it loudly everywhere.”

  “Not that anyone would understand your gibberish,” Boaz followed up.

  “No, but I’d make sure you did, Highness.”

  “Oh Zarab! Pez, I’ve missed you,” Boaz said, squeezing Pez again before setting him down. “You are well, not hurt?” he asked, spinning the dwarf around to be sure.

  “I am unharmed, as you see.”

  “You look so thin.”

  Pez couldn’t explain that it was from the long flight.

  “I could say the same for you, Highness,” he admonished.

  “I have been fretting! Tell me everything.”

  Pez began to craft his tale. “I had to exist frugally. I lived off some meager supplies I found at our camp. Fortunately we had fresh water. There was a camel, too,” he lied. “I was able to drink her milk and she kept me warm at night, and each day I struggled to get up on her, but she was a gentle beast. She saved my life.”

  “Where is this camel? I shall have a statue carved in her honor.”

  Pez thought quickly. “I set her free, Majesty. As I approached the western foothills, I came across a small herd and I allowed her to join them. I was so thankful to realize I was all but home.”

  “So you were lost in the confusion of the attack?”

  “Totally. I was knocked out and remained unconscious for a while,” Pez lied. “They must have thought me dead. I regained my wits only to discover the dead around me. All those I cared about were gone. What of Ana, my Zar?”

  “No
news. I cannot allow myself to think she is dead.”

  “She is not, Highness.” And now Pez began to tread as carefully as he had ever done before.

  “You know! What do you know?”

  “Not much. As I explained I was knocked out but I came to my consciousness and heard voices. I feigned that I was dead but I heard that man Arafanz give Lazar a horrible choice. I couldn’t see very well, but knew he had chosen to save the life of the Valide. Ana was safe, the Valide was not. Lazar had to make the most appalling decision, but he chose to help the royal in most need. Please tell me, Zar, that Lazar survived?”

  Boaz nodded. “Lazar is alive and saved my mother and the Vizier too, although our Spur is sickening again. Salazin, who protected them, also disappeared, according to the Grand Vizier, and likely perished from his wounds.”

  Pez felt the wound of Razeen’s death cut deeply. Razeen had been handpicked by himself and Zafira to pose as the Grand Vizier’s private spy, under the name Salazin. They had played a dangerous game with this young man’s life and Pez had never lost his fear for the youngster. Now to discover that the youth had in fact lost his life was crushing and Pez was reminded of Zafira’s warning that they were squandering the lives of innocents. “I heard Lazar leave but not before he promised Ana that he would return with the anger of the Crown burning brightly in his heart to reclaim the Zaradine and the heir to Percheron.”

  “He said that?” Boaz asked, his eyes shining.

  Pez nodded, warming to his guile. “I heard him, my Zar. His wrath on your behalf could not be mistaken. He told Ana that her husband would not rest until she was found. He warned Arafanz that Zar Boaz might be young but that you made a formidable enemy and your rage at his theft would know no bounds.”

  Boaz smiled faintly, confusion creasing across his forehead. “Lazar threatened the thief in this manner?”

  “He did, my Zar,” Pez assured, inwardly begging Lyana to forgive his necessary deception. “And then he rode away on the camel. But I heard Arafanz say to Ana that she would not be harmed in any way. She is alive, Majesty.”

  “Did he say why he was taking her?”

  “No.”

  “And do you know where he was taking her?”

  “I do not, although I watched them and they headed in a firm westerly direction. The Khalid may know exactly where they were destined.”

  “Khalid?”

  “The men of the desert who accompanied us.”

  Boaz frowned. “I didn’t know there was anyone in your party save those who left the city.”

  Pez shrugged. “Tribal men moved with us–not many. It was bargained with Lazar. I gather he wasn’t happy about it but they supplied our camels, became our friends.”

  “So they did not perish in the attack?”

  “They fled, I presume.”

  “Not truly friends, then,” Boaz said, bitterness in his tone.

  “Everyone, save the few you know about, was slaughtered, Highness. The desert men would not have been spared. They did the right thing in fleeing, for we were no match against the attackers. Only Lazar and Salazin felt any measure of success. How is Lazar?”

  “I gather the same sickeness that had him in its grip after the flogging has reclaimed him.” Boaz grinned. “You’ll never guess…my mother has decided to care for Lazar.”

  “The Valide?” Pez deliberately exclaimed with just the right balance of disbelief.

  “She is determined that she alone will see to his care. He was brought here only today, I gather. I plan to see him tomorrow.”

  “And her reasons are simply for the good of Percheron and strictly platonic?”

  Boaz gave him a wry sideways glance. “Nothing my mother thinks or does is ever simple, Pez. But Lazar is not helping himself and he won’t ask for the help he needs. I sense he may even succumb to his sickness, and happily, because of the darkness that he has plunged himself into…but we need him. He has a duty to all of us–to Percheron. The only way to make him better is to force it by royal decree and I suspect nothing would terrify him faster into good health than knowing my mother has him at her mercy.”

  Pez smiled. There were times when he was sure none of them gave the young Zar enough credit for his mature insight. “Does she know how to look after him?”

  “Apparently he needs some special bitter tea.”

  “What he needs immediately is the pure drezden poison, milked direct from a snake.”

  “How do you know?”

  “As I understand it, that’s how Zafira kept him alive last time. The tea is important to bring him back to full health but the pure poison is essential for him to survive. Has he been through the wasting fever yet?”

  “I don’t know.” Boaz frowned.

  Pez knew Lazar had not. “That is when he’s at his most vulnerable, apparently, when we genuinely nearly lost him last time, although of course then there was the complication of the vicious flogging. I imagine it was hard not to consider him on the brink of death for the entire trial.”

  “How long will he go through this?”

  “He took a year to recover last time. Now perhaps three or four moons.”

  Boaz nodded. “That’s all I can give him. So what should the Valide do?”

  “You’ll have to tell her what I’ve told you but beware not to betray me–lie if you must.” Pez knew he didn’t have to remind Boaz of their secret but he had never felt himself in a more precarious position than now. “Give her this.” He handed the Zar a scruffy-looking scroll of parchment.

  “What is it?”

  “A recipe for the tea that Lazar will need. I found it at the Sea Temple,” Pez lied. “Zafira must have written it out. Tell anyone who asks that you found it on me when I was discovered at the temple.”

  The Zar read it. “We shall have to get the fresh poison. I’ll order snakes to be milked immediately.”

  Pez nodded. “How is the Grand Vizier, by the way?”

  “Unharmed–the only one who came out of the desert unscathed, to tell the truth. He’s just returned from a brief tour with our ships.” Boaz shrugged at his friend’s look of surprise. “I needed someone senior I trusted to do some reconnaissance.”

  Pez masked his feelings about Maliz’s being in such a position of trust. “No Galinsean ships yet?”

  Boaz shook his head. “I don’t know what to think.”

  “They’re coming, my Zar, don’t think otherwise. But I imagine the dignatories took the precaution of first sailing back to King Falza to advise him personally of developments. No doubt they gave Lazar long enough to reach Romea, or at least for your emissary to enter the capital. I imagine they’ll be deciding around now, if not already, that no diplomatic party is arriving.”

  “And the ships will be returned,” Boaz finished for him.

  Pez nodded. “You have perhaps five moons at most before they are in our harbor.”

  Boaz gave an unintelligible growl. “And we shall be ready for them.”

  Lazar grimaced. “Valide, please–”

  “Call me, Herezah,” she urged, dabbing a soft flannel over his brow. “Does that help?”

  He reached to stay her hand, noticed the flash of delight in her eyes above her veil at his touch. “You should not be nursing me,” he croaked.

  “Why ever not? My son has little need for me as counsel–he takes all the advice he requires from the Grand Vizier these days. And as I told you, after my time in the desert the harem is tedious. Furthermore, with the threat of war, it now seems altogether pointless. I might as well make myself useful by helping you to recover.”

  “The worst is yet to come,” he warned, his voice cracking. “I have yet to confront the wasting fever.”

  “So be it. I shall see you through those times, Lazar. You saved my life–I feel obliged to reciprocate. I shall be your slave for a while.” Her eyes glittered with the innuendo of her words.

  Behind the Valide, Lazar saw a woman enter.

  Elza bobbed a curtsy. “Excus
e me, Valide, I have been sent to warn you that His Highness, the Zar, is approaching.”

  “Ah,” Herezah said evenly. “Please, bring the Zar in.”

  Moments later Boaz arrived.

  “My Lion, be welcome,” Herezah said, standing to greet her son and removing her veil in a practiced motion before dropping to a low, elegant curtsy.

  The Zar took her hand and raised her. “Mother,” he said, planting a kiss on her cheek.

  Lazar struggled unsuccessfully to raise himself from the pillow. This was the first time since he’d returned from the desert and handed over his precious charges that the Spur had seen his Zar. At that moment of return he had croaked an anguished apology that all had gone so wrong. Boaz had been stoic but cool toward Lazar. Now at least he wore a smile.

  “Please don’t, Lazar,” Boaz admonished at his Spur’s struggle. “Let us ignore protocol for the time being. It is good to see you, brother,” he said, reaching for the Spur’s raised hand and grasping it, making a fist of it in the way Lazar had taught him when he was a young lad.

  The Spur found a twitch of a smile as the fond memory flitted across his thoughts of a young prince striving to become a man, his father rarely present and a royal soldier his next best option. “Majesty,” he croaked, “Forgive–”

  “Don’t, I beg you. You have our collective gratitude for returning the Valide and Grand Vizier to Percheron alive. I can see what it cost you to save my mother. I can only imagine the more hidden effects.”

  Inwardly something snagged at Lazar. Boaz’s words seemed genuine enough and yet to him they seemed to carry an uncomfortable undercurrent. “What news, Majesty?” he asked. His mind was beginning to swim. He must ask Herezah not to wear such a heady fragrance if she was going to look after him. Look after him? How ridiculous. The Valide, of all people!

  “I do bring news. Good news,” Boaz said, his bearing changing to that of a young boy with a secret.

  “Boaz, tell us,” his mother urged.

  “Pez is returned!” the Zar exclaimed triumphantly.